


Inevitability

by misanthrobot



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen, M/M, Minor Character Death, teenage romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-06-11
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:11:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthrobot/pseuds/misanthrobot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming." - Pablo Neruda</p><p>Clear and Noiz both deal with inevitability in different ways, but one of them is experiencing it in the present, and that makes all the difference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cut Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [headstomp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/headstomp/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noiz goes to Clear's house late at night, running away from an empty apartment and towards a booty call. After putting his foot in his mouth, Clear unloads a few concerns. Noiz is as bad at handling other people's problems as he is his own.

Noiz is after a booty call, which isn't surprising considering his past experiences with relationships and people. Clear is kind to a fault and socially awkward, but still the best person Noiz has ever fooled around with. Just acknowledging that alone says a lot about him and his choice in partners, none of it good. It's that odd hour between early morning and late night, and his apartment feels unsettlingly empty, which Noiz wouldn't mind much normally. Tonight, however, he minds enough to pack a roll of condoms, a tube of lubricant, and a change of clothes into an old backpack before making his way out of his apartment by the fire escape.

His apartment is quiet at his time, as most of it's residents prefer to sleep on a regular and normal schedule. _Most_ , but not all, and that most includes his landlady. She doesn't particularly like him, his habits, his attitude, or his boyfriend. He doesn't like her much either, but getting kicked out of his apartment this late in the game would be inconvenient, and leaving at three in the morning through the front door would attract her attention. He doesn't need her investigating anymore into his business than usual.

He's used to going down the fire escape without making a sound, and hits the floor with a light 'pap' before making his way down the street to his car. Learning to drive and getting his license here proved mildly challenging, but now it's old hat. He throws his bag into the seat next to him and plucks away at the radio, eventually forgoing it entirely to plug his mp3 player into the dash and queue up the playlist Clear would never let him listen to with the windows down.

Getting to Clear's house isn't a problem, neither is getting there fast since the streets are empty and Noiz is reckless when it comes to driving. His only saving grace, as Clear has told him numerous times, is that he at least wears a seatbelt. He pulls up to Clear's house and into his driveway, parking next to an old car in surprisingly pristine condition, no doubt due to Clear's habit of keeping everything clean. _Especially_ if it belongs to his grandfather.

He doesn't have a key to the front door, which leaves him tossing pebbles at Clear's window for fifteen minutes, wondering when his life became a romantic-comedy and whether or not he should have just stopped by and bought a boombox on the way here. He also wonders when he became so invested in this relationship. That he actually cares that Clear is the one who lets him in, rather than climbing the lattice on the side of his house and jimmying his window open, probably says a lot. That he used to do that in the first place probably says a lot too.

Clear opens his window and looks down at Noiz, then rubs his eyes. Focusing a little more, he smiles brightly, and opens his mouth as if to yell out before remembering how late it is. Grandpa needs his sleep, so he motions for Noiz to wait, and closes the window, vanishing from sight. Noiz waits at the front door until Clear opens it, then pushes his way into the other boy's space and presses their mouths together clumsily. They kiss for a moment in the doorway before Clear pulls him inside with surprising strength and Noiz kicks the door closed after him, but softly.

They make their way up the stairs, Clear holding his hand the whole time. Their ascent is slightly off-balance, but they reach the taller boy's room with little issue. It's decorated with glow in the dark stars and tissue paper jellyfish, and while Noiz still finds it ridiculous, it doesn't bother him anymore. He goes in first with Clear following after and closing the door quietly behind him. Clear turns towards him and smiles brightly, looking painfully adorable in worn yellow-and-blue plaid pyjama pants and a soft white shirt. Noiz closes the distance between them in two steps, pushing up onto his toes and pressing their lips together with an uncomfortable amount of force. Clear squeaks against his mouth and Noiz pulls away and rest his forehead against Clear's.

"Is your old man awake?" Noiz whispers, and his breath is hot over Clear's mouth, which curls down into a frown almost as soon as the question leaves his mouth.

"Grandpa usually isn't awake at this time. He doesn't wake up that easy anymore."

The look in Clear's eyes when he says this is both sad and nervous. It makes Noiz pause and pull back, dropping down onto the flats of his feet. Emotions aren't something he's prepared to deal with most of the time. Despite hanging around with Clear most times and Aoba and the rest of their group whenever he feels like it, he still hasn't got the hang of other people's feelings and how to deal with them. He chews the inside of his cheek a bit and focuses on the floor, considering his options.

Noiz isn't overly fond of fucking things up.

Clear looks more worried by the second, eventually bending down to kiss Noiz again. It's soft and gentle, and Noiz allows it for a few moments before backing away. He grabs one of Clear's hand in his own and swallows, leading them to the bed. He doesn't so much as push Clear down as he does shove lightly until the other boy gets the hint and willingly lays himself down on the bed. Noiz straddles his hips afterward, hands braced on Clear's chest so he can sit back and keep an eye on his face.

"Do you wanna talk about it," asks the shorter boy. He's sure that this is the kind of thing to say. He's sure that Clear wants to talk it out, and listening is a passive enough activity that he doesn't mind doing it. Noiz is the kind of person who fixes problems and he's good enough at reading between the lines to have an inkling of what this problem is. It isn't one he can fix or even help with, and Clear knows this. If the boy straddling him could fix what is happening with his Grandpa, Clear isn't sure if he'd even have the guts and selfishness to ask.

"We don't have to," he says, carefully placing his hands on Noiz's hips, pushing his thumbs under the thin cotton of the other boy's shirt to touch skin. "We don't have to talk about anything if you don't want to."

"I do," Noiz says, but it's a lie and at the same time not. Noiz hates considering his feelings. He lives better if he doesn't. Clear is different though, and considering Clear's feelings is something he doesn't mind anymore, even if he's uncomfortable. He grips Clear by the collar of his shirt and locks eyes with him, bright green to brilliant pink. "So just tell me, idiot."

Clear squirms on his bed and against him, starts to speak and then stops again. He sits up suddenly and Noiz almost falls back onto Clear's legs before arms wrap tightly around his waist to brace him. Suddenly there is a warm face nuzzling against the crook of his neck, thankfully too firm to be ticklish. Now is not the time for sudden and unwanted laughter.

"I worry a lot. About Grandpa. He sleeps more and more now, and I'm afraid." He holds on tighter to Noiz, who bears the touch and the tightness. "I'm afraid that I'll go into his room one day and he won't wake up. I don't want him to die."

Clear wants a lot of things, though he never really voices them unless called upon. He wants to pass his classes. He wants to learn to play an instrument. He wants to be a marine biologist. Mostly, though, he wants to be with other people. Platonically, romantically, even just a passing meeting is fine with him, even if he is quiet at most times. Everything else is secondary as long as he isn't alone.

Noiz knows this, took advantage of it until he got to like Clear, and now he finds himself completely stuck. In retrospect, it really serves him right for being a dick, even if Clear is far too good for him anyway. He isn't sure how to respond to Clear's sentiments, so settles for rubbing his back, soothing his hand down the middle along Clear's spine. He has never really considered death in a personal way. Things happen and people die. That's just the way things work. But he doesn't say this to Clear because it's hardly what he wants to hear. Instead, all he says is, "I'm sorry."

Clear feels a stinging in his eyes and a tightness in his throat. His eyes tear up and he just knows he's going to end up crying into Noiz's neck, so he doesn't bother to hold it back and it comes in quiet sobs that still shake his whole body while Noiz tries to comfort him. He pulls Clear's face away from his shoulder by the hair and kisses him. Not just on the mouth, but on the cheeks and on his eyelids, licking up tears with flicks of his tongue whenever they fall.

"I'm sorry," Clear chokes out, apologizing even when he has nothing to be sorry for. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like this sort of thing."

"It's fine. Shut up," Noiz replies, and kisses him briefly but with a sense of finality. Clear's mouth is slack against his own, and eventually Noiz tilts his head so that the other boy can hide his face against him again. The sounds forcing their way out of Clear's throat are making him uncomfortable, predominately because all Noiz can do is pet his hair and rub his back, stopping just short of a constant mantra telling Clear that everything will be alright. He abstains from the latter, because even though lying is a thing Noiz does often, he cannot lie about this. Not to Clear.

Clear looks ugly when he's done crying, he knows this and Noiz does as well. It's a fact of life that no one looks pretty when they cry, and Clear is no exception. His face is blotchy, his eyes are puffy, and his nose is red. Noiz's shirt is rumpled and damp at one of the shoulders, but he doesn't mind. They sit there staring at each other for a while until they both start to speak up at the same time.

"Do you-"

"I could-"

They pause and stare at each other for a bit before opening their mouths again. Noiz covers Clear's immediately, having little patience for this kind of stop-and-start.

"I'm staying here tonight."

He doesn't ask Clear if it's alright or if he wants Noiz to go, just pushes the other boy down and adjusts them both until they're lying on their sides. Clear's arms are wrapped around his middle as soon as he stills, and while Noiz finds them tight and uncomfortable, making Clear let go would be more awkward than he's willing to deal with. Instead, he bears it with a single resigned sigh and Clear kisses the back of his neck to pacify him.

"Thank you," Clear whispers.

"Shut up and go to sleep," Noiz responds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did the editing for this in an airport bathroom.


	2. Spring Comes Regardless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clear spends a lot of time at the hospital these days, dealing with what has yet to pass but is obviously going to come. Noiz comes to check on him and meets Clear's grandfather for the first time under some unfortunate circumstances. Then a proposal is made. (It is not the one you think.)

The hospital room they've placed Clear's grandfather in is one of the older ones. The walls are painted with a washed-out shade of green and the cot looks distinctly worn and uncomfortable. The staff haven't put him on any sort of I.V. drip, acknowledging that he's past that by now and because he also isn't feeling any pain. All they have him on is a machine to help him breathe, and Clear isn't sure how long they'll even bother keeping him on that. There is a chance though, that he'll ask for it to be turned off himself. Clear isn't sure how he'll deal with that.

When he was a child, there was a time that Clear held hospitals in high regard, spending most of his time in one due to his eye and ear problems, along with his albinism. He used to like how they were bright and clean and full of people. He doesn't hold them in such high regard now, even though he should. Hospitals are places where people get help, where they get medicine and whatever aid they need. It's a place where people get better.

Except Grandpa isn't getting better, and now Clear has first-hand knowledge that sometimes hospitals are where people come to die.

He seemed to be fine for a few brief days. While he hadn't gotten up and walked the house like he used to, he'd sat up to eat on his own and had talked with Clear like he used to, in that calm but raspy voice that made him feel everything was going to be okay. It had been nostalgic and pleasant, but also painful. Pleasant because he could pretend that there was potential for things to go back to the way they were. Painful because he knew better. 

He's been doing research since Grandpa was checked in, most of it on how people die and what happens when they do. He's been trying to coax his mind and heart into accepting what was bound to happen eventually. It doesn't matter though, because apparently these things are supposed to come with time and that isn't something Clear can control. All he can do is run himself ragged with the knowledge of what's to come, cloistering himself away in this hospital room, worrying his friends, and crying when Grandpa is asleep and the staff isn't watching.

If the chair he's sitting on is uncomfortable, Clear doesn't notice. His attention is always split between his grandfather and his own thoughts, which are spiraling into darker and more panic-ridden territory faster than a jet with a wing clipped off. He doesn't know what he's going to do when Grandpa dies, as much as he wants that 'when' to be an 'if'. He doesn't know where he's going to live, who's going to take care of him, or how he's going to take care of himself afterward. He doesn't know how he's going to cope when the older gentleman suddenly isn't there anymore.

Next to him, his grandfather rests. Clear can't even hear the sound of his breathing over the machinery and it worries him. But these days, pretty much everything does.

The doors in the hospital don't open too loudly, but the doorknobs make a snap-n-clatter sound every time they're turned. It's what ends up waking Clear, who jolts a bit in his seat and snaps his head up to look at who has come in. It's a motion he immediately regrets, neck protesting with a fierce throb, but he regrets it a little less when he sees who's waiting in the doorway.

He hadn't expected Noiz to come. When he fired off that quick text-- _Grandpa's in the hospital_ \--all he expected was swift acknowledgment, then nothing until he'd texted again. Instead, the other boy is here and casually dressed to the point of laziness, looking between him and his grandpa. He looks like he would rather be literally anywhere else, but he steps into the room anyway and closes the door as quietly as he can behind him.

Before he even sits down, he moves the other chair closer to Clear's and sets his backpack on the floor, unzipping it and pulling out one of Clear's sweaters. It's an old yellow one that he'd lost track of a while ago, and for a moment he's confused. 

"You left it at my apartment," Noiz supplies, handing it to him.

"I'm already-" 

But he pauses and looks down at his shirt. His shirt, because he isn't actually wearing a sweater right now, just a dull green long-sleeved shirt. "Oh," Clear says, then takes the sweater and pulls it over his head. He feels warmer almost immediately. "Thank you."

Noiz shrugs like it's nothing, because it really isn't that big of a deal to him. He takes his seat next to Clear and slides his hand into into the other boy's, lacing their fingers together like the gesture comes naturally to him. Clear turns to look at him and squeezes his hand to get his attention. When Noiz turns to look at him, he presses their lips together, firm but gentle. He feels guilty, because here he is kissing Noiz when is Grandpa is facing death a few feet away, but he needs this reassurance. Noiz lets him have it, bringing a hand up to cup his face and pushing back.

"So _this_ is your young man," says a raspy voice.

Clear nearly jumps out of his skin, and from the speed Noiz pulls back with, he knows he isn't the only one startled by sudden voice from someone they thought was sleeping.

"Grandpa! You're awake!"

“The doors open too loud in this place for anyone to get any sleep,” he replies, smiling and shaking his head. “Noiz, was it?”

Noiz tenses next to him, leans forward to make eye contact with Clear's grandfather and nods. "That's me."

An hour later and Clear is almost surprised at how long Grandpa has stayed awake, but he supposes Noiz is somewhat assisting with that just by being here and a curiosity. He's talked about the other boy a lot, but it's the first time they've really met face to face. There's a twinge of guilt that this is the first time they've met. Not while Grandpa was still at home and comfortable, but while he's in a hospital hooked up to machines. He had been nervous, and Noiz has been avoidant, and this is the result.

Noiz doesn't seem to mind the atmosphere, casually talking to Grandpa and telling him stories about a few of their escapades; like the time they went to the fair and Noiz ate so much cotton candy that he threw up on the ski-lift. Clear adds in parts as he deems fit, feeling a small bit of happiness flutter in his chest at the fact that he is here with these two and they're getting along. Grandpa mostly listens to them talk, laughs when he feels like it and shakes his head slowly at the foolishness of youth. Sometimes he'll pause to catch his breath and both of them will wait until he's ready to start again.

"Where are your parents, Noiz?" Grandpa says, still hesitating around the name like he's expecting Noiz to tell him his real one any minute. Clear can feel the other boy tense next to him, unwilling to disclose the information. His parents are a sensitive subject that is mostly dismissed, and Clear knows the default response he wants to say because he'd gotten it enough before Noiz had actually elaborated on the situation. He bumps shoulders with Noiz to encourage him to answer.

"In Germany," Noiz manages to get out. "I'm here on a foreign exchange program."

"And what will you be doing after?"

"Staying here."

“And they're fine with that?”

“They don't have an opinion on what I do with my life.”

Grandpa nods solemnly and turns his gaze to Clear, who swallows hard. He raises a single bushy white eyebrow. "Clear," he says, "when was the last time you ate?"

"I-I-I..." His eyes sting a little and his vision clouds, because Grandpa is still looking out for him even from a hospital bed.

"I thought so." He nods his head at Noiz, who's half-panicking but still attempting to comfort Clear before he actually starts to cry. "Could you take him to get some food in him? A growing boy shouldn't go without meals."

"But Grandpa-"

"Don't worry so much, Clear. I'm not going anywhere," he says, reaching a hand out to ruffle Clear's hair. The gesture takes a substantial amount of effort, and when his hand stays so long that he can't pull it back himself, Clear is the one who has to put it back on the bed.

"Okay... Okay. I'll go get something. But I'll be right back, so don't leave."

Noiz puts an arm across his shoulders, coaxing him up from the chair and towards the door. Noiz looks back before they leave, and Clear's grandfather is smiling softly, eyes on his grandson and then Noiz.

"Be kind to him," he says.

"Yes, sir," he replies, and it's probably the most respect he's given to anyone all year, but Noiz figures the old man deserves it. 

He raised Clear, after all.

Noiz escorts Clear to the bathroom instead of the cafeteria, directing him into a handicapped stall. There's a part of Clear that instinctively cringes, because in the bathroom of a hospital where his Grandpa is a patient is definitely not where he wants to mess around. But Noiz doesn't push him up against the wall of the stall or the tiles and kiss him. Instead, he leads Clear towards the sink and tilts his head towards the faucet. 

"You should wash your face."

Clear doesn't wash his face, instead opting to cry as softly as possible, all too aware of how bathrooms tend to carry echos. Noiz stands in the stall with him, shifting from foot to foot and biting his lower lip. He is terrible at comfort, utterly fucking atrocious at it. He doesn't know what compels him to turn Clear around and thread his fingers through his hair, pulling him down against his shoulder. 

It's not too long before Clear stops, but it's long enough for Noiz to feel the damp seep through his hoodie and his shirt. When the taller boy pulls back, it's with a sniffle that sounds too loud in their current situation and with no apologies for crying. Noiz wouldn't expect one in this situation anyway. Clear rubs at his eyes with the edge of one sleeve, lets Noiz turn him around and move him towards the sink.

"Seriously," says Noiz from behind him, "wash your face."

Clear does as he says, and they finally leave the bathroom, taking the elevator in silence for the most part. When Clear finally speaks up, it's to murmur an apology that Noiz brushes it off with a shrug. “It's no problem.”

The discussion on what they should eat is probably the most domestic one he's has in a while with Noiz, though conversation like this has been a staple in their relationship for a while. Even so, Clear can't remember the last time he's actually talked with Noiz like this recently, before his Grandpa ended up here. It's been a while, apparently, and that they're doing it now makes this feel a little more bearable. 

Eventually, they settle for chicken, vegetables and rice, and watch a mildly disgruntled cafeteria worker spoon it all into containers before handing it to them. Noiz pays for the entire meal like he usually does, despite Clear's protests, and they take everything over to a secluded two person table and sit across from each other as is usual. Even in a hospital, Clear finds the ease with which he falls into this routine sort of heartwarming.

While the food in the hospital cafeteria isn't completely terrible, it's nothing compared to what Clear can cook as far as Noiz is concerned. Still, it's better than nothing and _definitely_ better than whatever culinary abomination he could make. They eat silently for the most part, attempting a few scattered bits of conversations that die almost as soon as it leaves their mouths. 

What could either of them talk about in this situation without actually acknowledging what's happening? 

What could they say to each other that would even seem appropriate?

Noiz can't think of anything and usually isn't one for conversation anyway, and so just spoons rice into his mouth and remains silent while Clear picks at his chicken instead of eating it. He kicks at the taller boy lightly under the table, until he looks up at Noiz. His eyes are still puffy and red, both from crying and constantly rubbing away his tears with his sweater. Noiz is surprised he hasn't lost a contact lens yet, and leans a little back in his chair to feel the press of his backpack strap and the reassurance that he he has spares of those too in case Clear needs them.

Clear makes a questioning sound in the back of his throat, and Noiz jerks his head at the other boy's food. 

"You haven't eaten anything."

"I'm not really hungry," he says dully. It's the truth. He hasn't actually been hungry for a while, subsisting mostly on one meal a day at school-- Grandpa refused to let him skip. “You need to be mindful about your education, Clear,” he'd said-- and the occasional bag of chips and bottle of water the nurses brought him out of pity. Clear has read as much about grief as he has about death now, and knows that it can cause a loss of appetite and fatigue, among other things. He supposes that this just proof that his articles and books were right.

Noiz shifts in his seat, torn between letting Clear do what he wants and actually lecturing him on eating properly. Usually Clear is the one to tell him that kind of thing, and being in a position where he's looking after Clear is certainly new to him. There's a chance he'll probably have to get used to it now, considering his feelings and Clear's current state. He opens his mouth to say something, then thinks better of it and shuts it again. He rubs his tongue piercing against the roof of his mouth in thought, then gets up from his chair.

"Are you leaving?" Clear asks, and it's such a pitiful tone that Noiz feels almost compelled to give an answer instead of just letting actions speak for themselves. Instead, he simply moves his chair next to Clear's rather than remain sitting across from him. He grabs Clear's plastic utensils from his hands and starts shredding the other boy's chicken with a minor amount of obvious frustration while Clear looks on in confusion. When he's done, he spears a piece on the fork and puts it up to Clear's mouth.

"Eat."

Clear wiggles in his seat and smiles at him, but it is a small, frail and sad sort of thing that hurts Noiz just to look at it. "You don't have to..."

"I want to. So eat."

He lifts the fork towards Clear's mouth, and thankfully he actually eats it.

Noiz continues in this pattern until Clear has finished everything on his plate, hardly caring at the people around them muttering and pointing, then leaves to throw everything away. Clear is behind him when he turns around, grabbing his hand immediately and lacing their fingers together. He pulls them away from the cafeteria and Noiz follows him because he has little choice in the matter and isn't sure he wants to leave Clear alone anyway.

"We should go back. Maybe Grandpa wants to talk to us some more."

They head towards the elevator and Noiz is silent and a little lost in thought, wondering how he can ask this question without being too blunt about it and frightening Clear. Pushing the button to call the elevator is like flipping a switch inside him that makes him think that it's the perfect time to put his foot in his mouth.

"What are you going to do after this?"

Clear knows immediately that he doesn't mean 'When you're done visiting your grandfather' or 'After we get in this elevator'. He's been thinking about what to do about this since Grandpa ended up here and he hasn't figured anything out yet. He's been too nervous to.

A bell chimes, the elevator doors open, and Noiz pulls him in while he's thinking, desperate to save this moment before it becomes too awkward.

"His room is on the fifth floor, right?"

"I don't know," Clear replies. Noiz gives him a look of confusion and Clear opens his mouth and then offers an awkward smile and a look of embarrassment. "No. I mean, yes, it's the fifth floor. But for the other question... Grandpa and I have talked about it a bit, but-"

"You don't know what you're going to do."

Clear shakes his head. "We've talked a lot about it, even though I don't like to, but nothing is concrete so far."

"Live with me," says Noiz.

The bell chimes again and the doors open and then, after a while, close again.

Clear stammers and stutters and fails to get a full sentence out, much less a word, and Noiz is feeling more and more like he's overstepped his boundaries as each second passes. The elevator starts moving up with the both of them still on it, and while Clear knows they've missed the floor and that they'd be better off taking the stairs now, it's a thought in the back of his mind because Noiz wants him to move in. To move in _with him_.

Noiz puts a hand over his mouth and offers him a look that is earnest at first and then self-conscious. "You don't have to decide now. And I'll be okay if you say no," he says, then swallows hard. "I just thought I'd give you the option."

"Okay," Clear says, and looks down at his feet.

The doors open again and Noiz uses their intertwined hands to pull Clear out of the elevator, pushing past a man in a suit on their way out. He takes them all the way to the stairs just by following the signs while Clear stairs at the floor the whole way, lost in thought. Just as Noiz has resigned himself to having to get them back himself, Clear pushes past him and opens the door to the stairwell and pulls them both in.

Noiz is up against the wall before the door even shuts, and before he can question Clear, there is the warm press of a mouth against his. For once, Clear has caught him off guard in a way that's more confusing than irritating, but it's too easy to just wrap his arms around Clear's neck and press into the kiss until Clear finally pulls back.

"What was-"

"Thank you."

Noiz furrows his brow and opens his mouth, only for Clear to raise a hand at him in a topping gesture, determined to finish his talk.

"You came when you didn't have to and you brought me my sweater and you let me cry on you and you made me eat and you talked to Grandpa politely. You've been really nice all day. Well, for you," Clear says. Noiz makes an insulted sound from his place against the wall, but Clear pays it no mind and continues. "So thank you. Thank you for being here for me."

Clear takes his hand off Noiz's mouth and the other boy surges forward and kisses him again. It's a firm press and Noiz nips his lower lip soundly before pulling away.

"Of course I'm here for you, you idiot," he huffs. "You're important to me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't write a death scene, so instead everyone is getting a funeral epilogue. Yaaaaaaaaaay! *sobs quietly*


	3. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clear and Noiz attend a funeral, and Clear learns from the more experienced one of the many ways to not-quite let go.

Clear stands in front of the mirror in his room, fumbling with the necktie he's supposed to wear with his suit today. Until now, he's never had a point in his life where he needed to know how to tie a necktie. While he's grateful to Noiz for having brought him the suit to begin with, just the act of putting it on has distressed him enough. Then again, it's been hard not being distressed lately. While Grandpa had taken care of most of the funerary preparations, there were still some things that only Clear could take care of. While they had been necessary, he wished he never had to do them at all. 

He fumbles with the tie once again, trying to remember how Noiz had tied it when he tried it on for the first time, but his fingers won't move the way he wants them to and his brain can't call up the instructions right. He stops soon after another failed attempt and lets his arms fall to his sides, looking around the room instead, as if something in it will help him. Nothing comes, and all it does is serve to make him notice how empty the place looks and feels. He'd told Noiz to give him some time alone, not because he'd felt crowded, but because he felt terrible about his constant inconsolability around him while Noiz clearly had no idea what to do to comfort him. He regrets his decision now and, turning away from the mirror, goes to look for the other boy's help and company.

Having lived in this house with his Grandpa for a long time, Clear doesn't remember a single time when the floorboards haven't creaked underneath his feet. The low and drawn out squeals have always been something of a comfort to him, the sounds almost reassuring him that he wasn't entirely alone in the house. The idea of having that sound out of his world soon makes him want to root himself to the stairs so he doesn't have to leave, but this entire week has been an exercise in letting go, and he's had to let go of something much more important than a house. While the reality of having lost his Grandpa makes the idea of losing the house less painful, it doesn't keep it from stacking on top of the myriads of other things that have him worried and upset.

Once he makes it to the bottom of the stairs, it's a simple enough task to find Noiz, who is sitting on the couch and tapping away at the screen on his phone. He looks up as soon as Clear hits the bottom step, brow furrowed in confusion. It's understandable, given that Clear had said he wanted to be alone, which was a rare request coming from the other boy and why Noiz had honored it.

"I don't know how to tie this," he says, and he doesn't mean for his voice to crack when it comes out, but it does anyway. 

There is usually a brief look of panic on Noiz's face when Clear looks like he's about to cry, but it's something Noiz has dealt with so much over the last few weeks that it vanishes quickly. Instead, he pushes himself off the couch and pads across the floor to Clear, pecking him once on the lips for comfort’s sake before starting on his tie. Clear can't really see what he's doing, more because of the angle than the tears he's holding back. The shift of fabric against his neck sounds loud in his ear, but it doesn't take long for Noiz to finish tying and readjusting his collar before smoothing down his shirt before stepping back.

"Done."

Clear bends down to tuck his face against Noiz's shoulder at the first opportunity, circling his arms around the other boy's waist. Noiz tenses but it's gone so fast Clear doesn't even register it. He's is used to this now, this need for closeness that Clear seems to have. It's not anything new, but it's gotten more intense over time. It's not entirely surprising. Whether intentional or not, Clear has already had one person leave him recently. The idea that he can't stand the thought of another leaving isn't a novel concept, even if Noiz has no intention of going anywhere.

"It's almost time to go," Clear murmurs into Noiz's shoulder, grip tightening noticeably. Noiz doesn't say anything in response, just brushes Clear's hair behind his ears and coaxes his head up from his shoulder.

"I'll get our jackets," Noiz says. "Do you want to wait in the car?"

Clear shakes his head, so Noiz leads him out of the room and towards the entranceway, where their jackets hang on coat hangers which hang on pegs. He helps Clear into his before putting on his own and leading Clear to his car by the hand. He doesn't have to, but he holds Clear's hand until they have to part to get in. 

They hold hands in the middle all the way to the cemetery, even though it means Noiz can only drive with one. 

 

There aren't many people at the funeral service, which doesn't surprise Clear at all. Grandpa didn't give the illusion of someone who had much of a social life beyond a certain point, though he did occasionally get letters and phone calls from old colleagues. The ages of the people in attendance make him think that's how most of them know his grandfather. Some of them confirm his suspicions before leaving, shaking his hand to introduce themselves once they're sure he's done crying, as if they're scared of the intensity of his grief and don't want it to touch them. 

(Noiz is terrified of his sadness for a lot of reasons, but it doesn't keep him from letting Clear ruin his nice suit jacket with snot and tears.)

They all say the same thing, really; 'My name is X and I knew your grandfather from Y' or something like that. There's a moment where he feels bad for thinking that way, for reducing these people and their knowledge of his grandfather to variables. They must be feeling something too, or else why would they come? But he's just so tired of everything that he doesn't know what to do. Clear already feels so low from weeks of enduring his grandfather's slowly failing health and the following funerary preparations, minimal though they were. One of his grandfather’s old colleagues remarked that he used to have a plan for everything, and it's the only thing Clear can find it in him to acknowledge with a nod.

He's not sure he's actually capable of feeling any worse than he already does. One or two make comments about his parents that Clear chooses to fastidiously ignore. They're the last thing on his mind right now. Mostly what's on his mind is how obviously new and recently filled the grave is. He's glad that it was filled before the service started. It means he can stay as long as he likes without feeling like he's in the way. He wonders if his grandfather planned for this too.

He doesn't really notice when the other attendees depart, one by one and back the way they came. Clear is somewhat aware of the lack of their presence, but it doesn't really register until the only ones standing in front of the grave are Noiz and himself. What winds its way through his gut is a complex feeling. 

He doesn't want to be alone. Not right now. He will have so much time to be alone later, and he does want to be close to Noiz, really. But his boyfriend, if that's what they are now, won't understand this and it feels like something he should do alone. It's confusing, and he takes a step towards the headstone with his hand placed over the old pair of tortoiseshell glasses in his pocket. His fingers are still tangled up with Noiz's, like a tether keeping him grounded, but Noiz doesn't pull him back.

His eyes itch. They normally don't. He's been good with these contacts ever since Noiz helped him get them, but now they itch from all the crying and face-rubbing he’s been doing. He sort of wants to be alone for this, alone with his Grandpa one last time, even though he knows there will be plenty of time to be alone-but-not later. The more he thinks about it the more it seems unfair, that the world should just go on like the most important man in his life hasn't just been put in the ground. And then he's crying again, feeling bad for it as he feels Noiz shift around to his back and wrap and arm around him, the grip of their hands change slightly.

He feels a soft, damp press on the back of his neck, and a voice that sounds like boredom, but speaks of previously unknown concern is suddenly too loud in his ears. 

"I won't be far, alright?"

There's a brief jolt of heart-rending concern and _no please don't leave_ that has him holding Noiz's hand tight enough to stretch the skin of his hands whiter than they already are. Noiz doesn't move at all once he feels it, doesn't even hiss in pain. Clear eventually relaxes and let’s go of his hand slowly, and Noiz takes it back and presses his lips against the back of Clear's neck a little harder before backing away.

The world feels a little colder, and Clear looks back and sees him walking towards the concrete path that brought them to this cemetery, stopping there and sitting down to face away. He swallows hard and turns back to the grave, shuffling up to it and pulling the glasses out of his pocket. He kneels and sets them down on the little concrete platform near the headstone, and then pulls his hand away with a significant amount of effort.

"You let me borrow those when I was little, remember? And I kept them for a really long time but... I think I should give them back."

There's a shuffling behind him he doesn't pay attention to, one that he can barely hear when it sneaks up on his right side, where his bad ear is. A shadow falls over him and there is suddenly a woman in a pale yellow nursing scrubs and pale pink and elaborately done up hair encompassing his vision. She's short, squat and wrinkled like she has had little to really smile about. The scrubs have daises on them, and it's a silly thing for him to notice, but he does.

"And why should you?" she asks. 

He doesn't answer her, just pulls himself up and a little away and shifts nervously from foot to foot. He's got little idea what Aoba's grandmother is doing here, or why she's talking to him.

"Ms. Seragaki... Did you know my grandpa?"

She snorts and looks vaguely offended at the professionalism, then looks off to the side. "We worked together some time ago," she answers, then looks at the grave. There is a fondness in her eyes when she continues. "He was a good man. Moral. More than I can say for most people we worked with." 

And Clear suddenly feels like maybe she was late on purpose, so she wouldn't have to deal with her other former co-workers. Then she's looking at him with such startling sympathy that Clear feels a little taken aback. 

"So?” She gestures to the glasses and Clear stutters and tears up and feels like he's suddenly done something wrong. 

"I don't... I don't know what else to _do_ ," he says, sobbing. "He's gone and I don't know what to do."

She doesn't reach out to comfort him, even though she could and he would welcome it. He almost wishes Noiz were still here, looks up to find the other boy still watching him from a safe distance, but stops short of calling him over. She only watches sadly as he cries. It doesn't last long, dissolving into sniffling. Clear can't really cry for long periods of time anymore. 

When she speaks again, she doesn't tell him that she understands or that everything takes time to deal with. She doesn't tell him that it will be okay eventually, or that he'll never be alone and that Grandpa will always be with him. These are all things he's said to himself, and they hadn’t helped. All she says is: "You don't need to rush to let go."

It's something he hadn't considered, a median between simply letting go or carrying the weight forever. It's almost a novel concept, and there is a quiet between them as he picks himself back together and Tae looks behind him and at the gravestone, saying her silent goodbyes. 

Eventually, they look at each other, and Clear wipes at his eyes with his sleeve, even though the fabric rasping over sensitive skin stings now. His voice sounds rough and cracked when he thanks her, and all she does is grunt at him and nod. 

"Sorry," he says, and she gives him a glare and prods him in the chest. 

"Don't you apologize for something like this, brat."

She looks behind him again, nods again and sharply, as if she's acknowledging someone; but when Clear turns around, there's no one there. He turns back to her, and Tae pats him on the shoulder, turning it into a grip and forcing him to turn around and face the headstone again. 

"I'll leave you two alone again," she mutters, and Clear can hear her shuffle off back the way she came, her goodbyes said and help offered, even though she didn’t expect to be in a position to offer anything. It's up to him to take it.

Clear pads up to the headstone less like someone carrying the weight of the world, and more like a small child asking for something they're unsure about. He kneels down again and gently scoops the glasses up into his hands with a reverence usually reserved for more precious things, but the frames are precious to him and that's what matters.

"I'm sorry," he says, then swallow past the lump in his throat so he can finish. "I'm going to keep these a little longer, okay Grandpa?"

And he doesn't get an answer and his heart still feels heavy, but the feel of glass and plastic in his hands again is just a little bit more comforting. He tucks the glasses into his front pocket and pushes off the headstone to pull himself up, feeling warm marble rasp against his hands. He lingers for a while, hands still holding stone and eyes still staring at the inscribed words. 

"I'll miss you."

Clear takes a few shaky steps backwards and then turns around and starts walking away. He casts one last look back over the graveyard, and for a barely-there moment, it doesn't seem as oppressive. There are trees and grass and flowers here among the headstones, and even though the wind shakes the leaves, the world seems quiet and peaceful here.

And then it's simply a graveyard again, and Clear turns away and presses a hand to his breast pocket before starting towards where Noiz is waiting for him.


End file.
